


The Missing Sock

by Bloodpage_Alchemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodpage_Alchemist/pseuds/Bloodpage_Alchemist
Summary: Professor Albus Dumbledore is missing socks. While he has accepted losing socks as an inevitable part of life, Fawkes the Phoenix refuses to allow such a thing stand. Nothing will stop this determined phoenix from solving the case of what's happened to his human's socks. Who is the culprit? What is the motive? That's for our detective phoenix to find out!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	The Missing Sock

**i.**

Cuttlebone, Fawkes the Phoenix knew, was a very important dietary supplement. It helped keep his bones strong and blood clotting. 

Unfortunately, Fawkes had to admit, the bone could be annoyingly loud against his beak. Still, it was best to be healthy despite the noise and it did have the additional benefit of grooming his beak, so it was best to just deal with it.

“That’s the fourth sock this week!”

The phoenix paused in his daily routine. This was unusual. He flew to his human’s bedroom to investigate.

Organized chaos was the only way this room could be described. It was bright and sunny, thanks to the large windows, illuminating the deep red blankets and rug. There were piles of paper and books that seemed on the edge of falling over on every chair and table in the room. In midair hung various models, some of planets and others of half-finished devices.

Albus Dumbledore, clad in gray robes, was standing by the foot of his bed. He was holding a bright lime green sock that had a banana with smoked spectacles upon it with the word “A-peel-ing” sown in. 

As Fawkes watched, he saw the elderly wizard bend down to inspect under his bed, the tip of his wand lit. He furrowed further under the bed, his hair looking far more grizzled as he shuttled out, heaving a sigh. The phoenix watched Albus move to his chest of drawers, rummaging through it. 

The man frowned, holding up his wand and performing a move that normally made something zoom to his hand. Nothing happened. 

Albus frowned, placing the sock onto his bed and moving back to the chest of drawers. This was an orange pair with “That’s my Jam!” written upon it, the word “jam” covered by various small colorful bottles. Grumbling to himself, Albus sat upon his bed to pull on the socks.

Worried for his human’s sight, Fawkes made his way to the nightstand. Upon this was a small clock and a photograph of a family; two boys and a girl with their parents. Fawkes watched the photo for a moment; the boys were similar looking, with auburn hair and bright blue eyes. They were laughing in the photo, and chasing each other while the woman watched them fondly. The man was holding the little girl, tapping her nose and making her laugh. Next to this was a pair of half-moon spectacles.

Fawkes stopped watching the photograph and picked up the half-moon spectacles. Perhaps this was why Albus could not see. He hopped over to the bed, making Albus look up half-way through pulling on his left sock.

“I must have startled you,” said the man, his bright blue eyes twinkling. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to let my frustration get the better of me.”

Fawkes sang softly and Albus accepted the spectacles, placing them on his face.

“Thank you.” 

With that, he reached over and scratched Fawkes on that perfect spot just above his beak, where he couldn’t really reach. After a few moments, the wizard finished getting ready for the day and left, adjusting his glasses as he did so. Fawkes got ready to leave with him when his sharp eyes caught sight of something odd.

He moved towards the door, tilting his head. 

There was something there; a single strand of long, dust-colored fur. The phoenix plucked at it with his beak, giving a disapproving warble. He was the only creature that should be in this area, Albus had no others. So what then was this? It was not a rodent, it was far too long a hair. 

But what could it belong to? 

Fawkes did not know, but he was determined to find out. Clutching his clue and collecting the single sock, the phoenix flew to his stand, where the abandoned cuttlebone lay. Albus was not in his office, no doubt having left for his own breakfast. Fawkes held up the strand of fur, looking towards the portraits and giving a questioning warble.

Perhaps one of the portraits had seen the culprit.

Unfortunately, the portraits paid him no mind, arguing loudly about how someone had cheated at Gobstones. The arguing was growing rather intense. 

“That’s why your painting was made with inferior paint!”

“You didn’t even use proper paint with the potions imbued, you were stuck in place until someone cast a charm!”

“Your spellwork is as shoddy as your Gobstone throwing!”

Fawkes puffed his feathers up and left the office as the portraits began to throw things at each other. He had no time to listen to them, he had a culprit to find. 

  
**ii.**

Vanishing in a flurry of flames, Fawkes appeared in an enormous, high-ceilinged room. Mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls surrounded him, all reflecting his handsome crimson feathers. He peered with interest for a moment before shaking his head. This was no time for inspecting feathers, no matter how interesting the brass made him look.

He flew towards a long, wooden table, away from the great brick fireplace, landing on it. The many house elves looked towards him.

Even Fawkes knew house elves could go everywhere. And they were likely the last ones who had had his human’s sock before it had been returned to the chest of drawers. 

“Oh, birdy you is going to get feathers in the food,” said a house elf worriedly. “No no no, you cannot be on the table. Shoo shoo.”

Fawkes held up the sock and the house elves gave a collective gasp of horror, moving away from it even as they shared worried chatter about feathers in the food.

This was getting him nowhere. Giving a soft puff of breath, the phoenix reappeared where the air was full of bubbles. On the floor were tubs of water with washboards attached and piles of clothes that were moving themselves to the washboards and scrubbing themselves vigorously. 

Some of the robes had fur similar to the strands Fawkes was holding. The phoenix hopped to a lonely pile in the back of the room, where many garments sat. Most looked like the one he was holding, but none were a match. Still, a rather interesting hat caught his attention.

Fawkes was a well-read phoenix. He did, after all, live in a school with a very well-known researcher. The most famous person that wore this hat solved mysteries. Perhaps if he wore it, the others would realize what he was trying to do and help him.

It was a bit big at first, but the hat soon shrunk, giving him quite the surprise. Fawkes supposed it was a magically adjusting hat. Well, the better for him then.

He moved through the room and though he saw many strands similar to the dust-colored one he held, there was no identical one. The bird peered intently at the strand, thinking. It was familiar, certainly a fellow creature’s hair and not a being’s. 

Who could enter Albus’s quarters? And who had done so for the past four days?

Fawkes recalled the Deputy Headmistress had been in there; Minerva McGonagall had been the last person in the office, discussing the state of the school brooms with Albus.

Perhaps she had started this, to get the new brooms she clearly desired?

At least, it was a place to start, Fawkes flamed into her office.

It was a small room, with a large fireplace that had delightful flames roaring in it. The windows overlooked the training grounds and Quidditch pitch, where students often flew. Fawkes sometimes wondered if the way humans flew was comfortable at all, or allowed them to stretch like his wings did. 

Her desk was full of papers and a tin, while the books scattered about made him think of Albus, as did the comfortable chairs in the small office. The portraits in here, to his surprise, did not move.

Did she have a class? Unlikely; the fire would not be lit if so.

A strange sound made Fawkes land atop the desk, and tilt his head curiously.

Minerva McGonagall was a cat animagus. He had nearly forgotten that.

She was currently in her cat form, rolling around in what looked like a strange sort of dried leaves. Albus sometimes used similar looking things for tea, but these certainly did not smell the same. 

Fawkes blinked. From the blissful mews and purrs, Minerva McGonagall certainly did not seem to even notice him. She was intently focused on the herbs she was rolling around in. Fawkes moved towards her bedroom, hidden behind a concealed door.

It was a sparse, stone-floored bedroom, also decorated with portraits and, interestingly enough, a set of bagpipes in the corner. Fawkes was curious, but he had a task to do. He flew to her chest of drawers and opened them with his gleaming talons. 

There were many tartan socks, but nothing of Albus’s particular tastes or size. Fawkes double checked, but all of Minerva’s socks were perfectly matched.

Clearly, despite her desire for school brooms, the woman had not taken his human’s socks.

As Albus would no doubt say, it was time to go back to the drafting table.

  
**iii.**

The owlery, in the daytime, was one of the quieter places in Hogwarts. His fellow birds were sound asleep, though the rustling of feathers and soft sleepy noises helped him relax, as did the breeze wafting in from outside. Most of the humans were busy at this time, planning and teaching lessons, or attending them.

Who else had been in Albus’s office besides Minerva McGonagall? 

Albus generally had quite a few visitors due to his various duties. He was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Headmaster of Hogwarts, a columnist for Transfiguration Today… 

Fawkes covered his head with his wing. 

With Albus’s range of activities being so wide, this made tracking a culprit quite difficult. 

The phoenix looked around at the owls and something occurred to him. 

That wasn’t quite right. These takings had happened multiple times and over a few days. 

With the protections around Hogwarts, it would be obvious if an outsider had managed to make it all the way to Albus’s chambers. The phoenix fluffed his feathers, relaxing a bit.

So while he did not know, he certainly could narrow it down to someone at Hogwarts. So then, who at Hogwarts had visited Albus over the past few days?

This was still quite the list. Many staff members often approached Albus with various issues… still, usually they discussed things at meals and the like, not in the office. Another of the more recent visitors had been Irma Pince, the school librarian.

Fawkes could not help his soft, amused trill at the thought of the woman. Though she could be rather grumpy, he was fond of her; she reminded him very much of a vulture. Her visit with Albus had been… interesting, to say the least.

“You are not above the rules of the library, Albus Dumbledore!”

“Irma, I was distracted. I did not realize my quill was not over my parchment.”

“You desecrated a book!” Irma wagged her finger at the headmaster furiously. “What do you think, that the students don’t look up to you and think, ‘Well if Professor Dumbledore can scribble like a four-year-old all over the books and smuggle hot chocolate into the library, why can’t I?”

Albus looked towards the jar of sherbet lemons on his desk, seeming very much like a schoolboy being lectured. 

After a moment, Albus cleared his throat, “I am sure no student would dare. As for my ah… mistake, the book screamed obscenities, hit me repeatedly on my back and head as well as biting me with the edges so that I would have papercuts,” said Albus, holding up his left hand to display the many tiny, but painful cuts.

Irma Pince did not look apologetic, instead crossing her arms stubbornly.

“I understand your passion for ensuring the library is well cared for,” continued Albus, “but we must be considerate towards the students. They are young and will make mistakes, just as I did.”

“Then they don’t need to use the library.”

“... Irma, this is a school. The students need the library. I am not saying to get rid of all the protections you have devised, but… perhaps you could ease on them just a little?”

“Those students are little grubby monsters, they’ll destroy the entire place without those protections!” 

Albus’s face was stern. “I am sure they will not. I do not want anyone in this school to be injured.”

“Fine,” spat Irma angrily. “You’ll regret this, mark my words, you’ll regret it.”

She had stormed out of the office, Albus sighing tiredly. 

There was no doubt that the librarian had been furious at Albus. She had been angry. And this was not injuring anyone, though it was certainly annoying Albus. It was crafty, creative… perhaps it was indeed the librarian behind this?

Fawkes was sure she was likely in the library, no doubt dusting. It was quite a large area and Irma preferred to take care of it herself instead of allowing the house elves. As a result, it was quite easy for the phoenix to flame into her chambers undisturbed.

He paused, looking around. 

For being such a grumpy, overbearing caretaker of the library, the phoenix had not expected this bedroom.Fawkes had been expecting something grim and gloomy.

Instead, enchanted windows were on the ceiling, displaying a bright, sunny day, making the room feel light and airy. The furniture was cozy and comfortable looking, with a tea table and set to go with it, and a bright, colorful rug was on the stone floor. 

Bright purple fuzzy slippers were tucked under the bed, which had a blanket of red, green and blue triangles neatly folded atop it. Though the small fireplace set into the wall was not lit, there was still movement due to the mantle being decorated with photos.

The walls were lined with books, all neat and tidy, but there were other things too. Other photos and plants, small models and dioramas were there, just as well-kept as her precious books.

Though this was a fun look, Fawkes had a task to do. Finding her chest of drawers was simple, and so was pulling open said drawers. The socks in this all seemed to have quotes etched onto them, the tiny print curling around each sock to craft stories. A few were plain, but there weren’t really any others; these were all in neat pairs.

Fawkes poked at them with his beak to make sure, but in the end, there was nothing of Albus’s here. 

Despite her angry words, Irma Prince had not seen fit to take Albus’s socks.

Fawkes closed the drawers and flamed to his perch. The portraits were all still loudly talking. Albus was not in the office. The bird closed his eyes but the noise was not helping. Instead, frustrated, he flamed to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

With the lovely view of the grounds and the perfect breeze ruffling his feathers and making his hat settle on his head more, Fawkes sang. His frustration turned into song, into a lovely sound that allowed it to be worked away from him. He could see the groundskeeper pausing in his task, students that were having flying lessons all stopping to listen, even the flying teacher doing the same.

When he finished, he thought his feathers turned even more crimson from the applause. The sight of the blue emblem on the flying students’ robes made him realize there was indeed another that had visited Albus.

Now it was time to see if his next suspect had any socks to hide.

  
**iv.**

Fawkes had to find a way to thank those students. Their robes had reminded them of their Head of House, Professor Filius Flitwick. He had been in the office but had followed Albus to his quarters insisting because he had wanted to make an official dueling club.

“There is no underground dueling club, Filius.” 

Albus looked exhausted, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

“I heard students discussing it,” said Filius just as stubbornly. “I think it’d just be best if they could learn from us.” 

“None of the portraits or ghosts have said anything of such a thing. I assure you, I will keep an eye out for it.”

“Really?” Filius looked grim. “Because I think you’re looking more at that booklet from the International Confederation instead of your students’ safety.”

Albus had looked surprisingly hurt. “Do you think so little of me? That I would ignore students’ safety? All this time you’ve known me, you really think that?”

“I’m adamant because we’ve known each other since we were boys, Albus.” Filius sighed, looking tired. “It’s not that you’d intentionally ignore it. It’s just... you have a habit of overlooking smaller things.”

“I would never overlook secret things like that.”

“No?” Filius looked more than a little amused despite Albus’s outrage. “As I recall, you had secret lessons when we were students for how to get rid of ugly curtains, didn’t you?”

A beat of silence as Filius raised both eyebrows pointedly.

“... That was different,” managed Albus finally, with the utmost dignity, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes, well, needless to say, I think you’d be sympathetic to secret groups.”

Albus snorted but was clearly serious with his next few words, “I promise you, I will have all resources at my disposal looking into this.”

Filius had nodded, stood and left. The two had seemed to be on decent terms… but still, it was something to be looked into.

The tiny man was in his office, but he did not see Fawkes appear; he was with a student who looked very upset.

“I’m sorry Professor, it’s just, just--I’ve had my dog forever and… and my parents said she died and… and…” 

“There there,” said Filius gently, patting his student’s hand. He was kind and sympathetic. “Don’t apologize. You’ve lost a member of your family. Do you want to tell me more about her?”

Tea appeared as Filius reached into his desk to take out a tin. There were cupcakes within and they began to jump around, dancing. The student sniffled, a tiny smile reaching their face as they watched. Cubes of sugar danced on the edge of the mugs.

Fawkes resisted the urge to comfort the child in need. Thankfully, Filius seemed more than skilled at doing that, as the student spoke about how the dog would always sleep next to them at home, how they always went on long walks…

He had a task to do. Still, the phoenix made sure to learn the student’s features. Perhaps a song would help when the student was outside. 

Since Filius was distracted, Fawkes was able to enter the bedroom without worry. 

Filius’s room was bright and cheery, with photos of people beaming and waving, as well as medals and trophies along the wall next to a short, gleaming silver sword that was set on the wall.

In one of the photos, a younger Filius was standing with a very elderly goblin, holding a silver goblet proudly. There was another photograph, a large group of goblins and humans, all beaming and waving next to a large birthday cake around a very elderly witch. 

Under this was Filius on the cover of a magazine called Duel!, and Fawkes blinked, looking at the medals more intently. International Dueling Champion was emblazoned on more than a few of them.

Who knew Filius Flitwick was so skilled in dueling?

The chest of drawers was next to the bed, which had a hand-knitted blanket prominently displaying pineapples tap-dancing.

The chest of drawers had multiple socks. 

Most were plain black or white, but others? Well, they were certainly the style Albus preferred. Bright, colorful with odd puns… but these were all matched.

They were also far too small. None of these socks would fit Albus’s feet. Perhaps his hands…

More than once, Fawkes had seen Albus doing that. He would put strange eyes and other things upon socks. He would place them on his hands and pretend they were talking to each other. Sometimes he even did this in Hogsmeade, in front of the very young children that lived there. 

They certainly seemed to enjoy it, even more so when Albus would share sweets with them before going about his way. 

His human had very strange habits. Still, Fawkes was fond of the man and he did not want Albus to fret over things, even if it were just missing socks.

On the bright side, at least Filius was in the clear.

Unfortunately, that still meant Fawkes had not found his culprit. His eyes roamed over the room and a photo of a duel caught the phoenix’s eyes. It had been a mock staff duel, from the looks of it.

He perked up; of course!

It was time to go to the dungeons.

**v.**

The Potions Master, Severus Snape, should have been one of the first people he had thought of. Fawkes felt foolish for not thinking of him sooner; he was quite used to seeing the man, after all. Severus came in quite often to complain about students.

Could he have done this, to make Albus act on his complaints at long last? The socks certainly did not seem to be his style. Still, anything was possible; it was up to him to see what the man’s room would hold.

He flamed away and paused on the desk. Though he was warm, he was glad for the extra warmth of his hat down here. Severus's office was... disturbing. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things that Fawkes certainly could not identify. The fireplace was dark and empty. The phoenix did not want to linger; quickly he headed into the Potion Master's bedroom.  
  
This was hardly better than the office! This room felt like it was a dark, padded cell and he spread his wings, quite uncomfortable. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather. There was a black armchair and a table grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling.

On the other side was the bed next to the chest of drawers he sought. He hopped on it.

“What do you…” 

A deep voice spoke, making Fawkes give a surprised squawk. He turned to see the Potions Master in question. The man was staring at Fawkes as if he had spouted another head.

Fawkes held up Albus’s sock and the strand of hair, giving a suspicious song.

“For goodness sakes,” muttered Severus Snape. “Dumbledore’s, I presume?” At Fawkes’s answering song, the man continued irritably, “Do you really think I would wear that atrocity?”

He shrugged the best a phoenix could, fluttering his wings.

“I don’t believe I’m arguing with a bird,” muttered the man, storming over and opening the chest of drawers. Everything was black. Fawkes moved through the articles of clothing with his beak, but there was no change.

It was all darkness.

He looked at Severus, who looked back at him.

“... I feel your judgement, bird,” growled the man, moving to close the drawers. 

Fawkes froze. 

There, on the hem of the man’s robe.

A strand of hair, just like the one he had! He fluttered to Severus’s heels, singing happily as he matched the two and flew around the Potions Master, landing on the top of the chest of drawers. He had his culprit! 

Happy, he sang quite loudly.

“What are you doing?” Severus looked as if he were going to take a Headache Potion. “Are you hungry? There’s nothing here for you. Shoo.”

He most certainly would not shoo, he had his culprit! Or, at the very least, a connection to the culprit.

Severus frowned at him, sighing deeply as he seemed to take in the sight of Fawkes. His dark eyes lingered on the hat nestled on the top of Fawkes’s head, on the sock and on the hair.

Slowly, his eyes flickered to the hem of his robe. Fawkes swore he saw the realization in Severus’s eyes as he leaned over and picked up the hair.

“... You’re looking for Dumbledore’s sock,” said the man slowly.

Finally someone that understood. He sang happily. 

Severus looked skyward.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” muttered the man. “I don’t have any of Dumbledore’s things.”

Fawkes held up the strand.

“I was getting to that!” snapped Severus. “I was just in Filch’s office. This is probably from his bloody cat. Now would you get out of here? I’m going to start sealing my office with a spell only a wizard can break, if a bird can break the one I use now…”

Fawkes wanted to be upset at the rudeness, but the phoenix had to admit, he was in the man’s bedroom without permission.

Giving Severus’s hand a light nuzzle, the phoenix vanished.

  
**vi.**

He was a phoenix on a mission. The dungeons were isolated and so dark and grim, Fawkes flew instead of just flaming off. At least he gave a bit of color down here!

A ghost covered in silvery blood watched him fly by. Soon, the phoenix was in the Entrance Hall and had easily opened the door to the caretaker’s office.

Argus Filch often complained to Albus, begging him to let him “hang students by their heels.” 

Of course, Albus always denied this request. Perhaps the caretaker’s irritation had finally gotten the better of him.

It was a small, simple room heavy with the scent of fried fish. A single oil lamp hung from the ceiling, illuminating the filing cabinets... along with the well polished chains and manacles hanging on the walls. Fawkes picked at these with his beak, opening them. 

He was surprised when a concealed door opened. Hidden with the chains, then? How odd. The bird hopped in and looked around this room.

To the right was a bed, with a chest of drawers, a small shelf of books and what seemed to be many canvases and paints. It seemed the man was working on a painting of a landscape; Fawkes tilted his head. Albus did often have the man restore paintings that were damaged in the school.

The left side of the room, however, had a massive cat tower. A curtain was half pulled in front of what seemed to be a box full of clay or sand. And all over the cat tree, fur that matched the strand Fawkes was holding.

But there was a small basket of plushes and bells that caught the phoenix’s eyes. Mixed among these, hidden… yes. He flew to it and moved the toys and noisemakers. Here, at the bottom of this basket, was the twin of the sock he held; the other bright lime green sock that had a banana with smoked spectacles upon it with the word “A-peel-ing” sown in.

A dangerous yowl reverberated through the room.

Puffing himself up to look larger, Fawkes turned. There stood a cat with bulging yellow, lamp-like eyes, a scrawny, skeletal body and dust-coloured fur.

She hissed threateningly at him. Fawkes held out his wings to their full extent and sang a soft, warning note at her.

Yes, he could understand watching out for one’s human. Argus Filch was no doubt frustrated.

Still, he was here for his human. She was a smart cat; no doubt she knew she had no hope against a phoenix. 

Fawkes waited.

At long last, after a furious hiss, the cat leapt onto the cat tree, sulking. 

Fawkes took back Albus’s missing socks, the style certainly unique enough to be recognized. He flamed off, reappearing on his perch in Albus’s office. Said man was working at his desk, but looked up.

He blinked, his bright blue eyes flickering from Fawkes to the hat nestled onto his head, to the socks he was holding. Fawkes hopped to Albus’s desk, holding up the socks proudly and the man slowly took them, his eyes twinkling.

“I admit, I am impressed,” he said. “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you. I know it must not have been easy.”

Fawkes gave a pleased song and returned to his perch. He supposed it would be best to return the hat to the laundry room.

There were three knocks on the door. Albus looked over to it, waving his hand. 

Minerva McGonagall walked in, looking a bit flustered.

“Oh, it’s you, Minerva. What’s the matter?” 

“Just frustrated,” explained the woman, taking a seat. “I had a new tin of Ginger Newts on my desk. When I went to enjoy one, they were all gone.”

Fawkes remembered the tin. It had been undisturbed when he had been in her office, before he had gone to her room to check for Albus’s sock. 

As Minerva complained to Albus about this being the second time in two weeks her Ginger Newts had gone missing, Fawkes knew he’d be keeping the hat for a little longer.


End file.
